“This is your room,” said he. “You are master here, and if you will take the trouble to look about you, you will find that I have neglected nothing that I thought would add to your comfort. Now, if you will dismiss your fears, if you have any, as I hope you will, for they are certainly groundless—you can enjoy a refreshing sleep. You need not hurry yourself in the morning, for I will wait breakfast for you. Goodnight, and pleasant dreams.”
Reginald Mortimer placed the candle upon the center-table and went out, closing the door after him. Julian stood listening to the sound of his retreating footsteps, and when it had died away, and he heard a door open and close in some distant part of the house, he stepped carefully across the floor and tried the lock. It was not fastened.
“This looks as though there might be some truth in that man’s story,” said he to himself. “The doors in this rancho—if that is what the house is called—seem to have a way of locking themselves, and I fully expected to find myself a prisoner. I’ll see that no one enters here to-night. If Dick Mortimer is still prowling around he shall never see the inside of this room. And Reginald doesn’t know that Dick is about here at all. He thinks he is off on a shooting excursion at Fort Stoughton, wherever that is. Dick evidently keeps his movements hidden from his cousin, and that proves that he is up to something he doesn’t want him to know.”
Julian turned the key in the lock as he said this, put down the catch, and seeing two strong bolts on the door, one above and the other below the lock, he pushed them into their sockets. Not satisfied with this he tilted one of the chairs against the door, and placing the back under the lock, and bracing the hind legs firmly against the floor, thus formed a barricade that could not have been easily forced from the outside, even if the lock and bolts had been undone.
This much being accomplished, Julian took his stand in the middle of the floor and looked about him. His quarters were large and airy, and contained a greater variety of elegant furniture than he had ever seen before. The floor was covered with a soft carpet that gave out no sound as he stepped across it. The walls were concealed by blue and gold hangings, and in one corner stood a comfortable bed, which, with its clean white spread and pillow-cases, presented a great contrast to the miserable couch to which Julian had been accustomed for the last eight years. Opposite the bed was a huge fire-place, and over it was a mantel-piece of black walnut, on which stood an ornamental clock. In the corner beside the fire-place was a small book-case, containing a collection of works that would have delighted any boy who was as fond of excitement and adventure as Julian. In spite of the limited advantages he had enjoyed in his old home he had learned to read and write, and having an all-devouring passion for books, he had perused every thing that came in his way. On the opposite side of the fire-place stood a finely carved wardrobe, and the first things Julian’s eyes rested upon when he opened the doors was a double-barrel shot-gun, a rifle, and a belt containing a revolver.
“This is just what I’ve been looking for,” said he joyfully, as he drew the elegant six-shooter from its holster. “If I am master of this room, as that man says I am, I have a right to do as I choose. I choose to say that I want to be alone here to-night. Dick Mortimer had better keep his distance, and so had those strange people Sanders spoke of, who can go through key-holes, and cracks an inch wide, and even solid stone walls. If they trouble me I will see if a bullet can go through them. Now, where is the ammunition?”
That was a question easier asked than answered. The accouterments belonging to the weapons were all in the wardrobe—the powder-horn and bullet-pouch depending from the muzzle of the rifle, and the shot-bag and flask hanging from the ramrod of the double-barrel; but they were empty. Nor was there any ammunition in the room. Julian overhauled the drawers in the lower part of the book-case, but they contained nothing but writing and drawing materials. Then he searched all the drawers in the bureau; but although they were filled to overflowing with all sorts of trinkets and valuables dear to the heart of youth—nothing in the shape of powder and lead could be found.
With a sigh of regret Julian returned the useless revolver to its holster, and throwing himself into a large easy-chair, which extended its arms invitingly, stretched his feet out before him, thrust his hands into his pockets and went off into a reverie.
“What a change a few short weeks have made in my circumstances,” thought he. “It seems only yesterday that I was living in a den that a respectable dog would turn up his nose at, going about clothed in rags, starving both summer and winter, and beaten and sworn at by every one of the family. Now I find myself under the roof of a man who speaks almost the first kind words to me that I ever remember of hearing, who embraces me and tells me that he is my uncle, and leading me to a room fitted up like a palace informs me that I am sole master of it. And I need not get up in the morning at the first peep of day to cut firewood and help Mrs. Bowles lay the table and cook corn-dodgers, but may sleep as long as I please, and my breakfast will be kept waiting for me. This man tells me, too, that I shall some day have a better right here than he, who now claims to be the owner of the rancho. Isn’t it enough to turn any one’s head? I will go to sleep now, and perhaps in the morning some of these things, which now seem to be involved in such impenetrable mystery, will be clearer to me.”